marigolds
by PerfectPerception
Summary: He was a beautiful boy. And beautiful people always end up with the ugliest fates. — AU; BeckTori, BeckJade, BeckCat.


**A few quick notes:** **Had to reupload this -_- So no, this isn't a chaptered story; my original story isn't sh****ow****ing up on my screen regardless of how many times I replaced the document with another one so I just added another chapter with the story's initial contents and deleted the other blank page. Sorry for any confusion and thank you for the kind reviews!  
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This story's title _Marigolds_ refers to Beck's character. In some cultures, marigolds, while beautiful, can signify sorrow and despair, which reflects the dismay and unfortunate fate written for Beck.

I tampered with this idea for the past two days and wondered what category I could use and came across _Victorious_ on the television. Most main characters are used if not referenced to, but this story strictly revolves around Beck.

Also, _Marigolds_ is rated T for a reason. It contains hard language, usage and heavy implications of drug abuse, death, slight minor gore, and tragedy. So, you've been officially warned!

Hopefully, however, you enjoy nonetheless :)

...

...

...

Once upon a time, Beck was seven years old. He had bedtime at seven on the dot, he didn't like peas but he loved corn, he had three dogs and two fishes, and he watched and became enthralled with comics and movies about superheroes and thrilling adventure.

Beck, most importantly, believed he was going to be a hero. A brave, handsome, glorious hero that defined what justice and good were.

He was going to save someone someday, he knew it. Wait, no. Never mind. He didn't want to save someone's life, he wanted to _change_ it. So he'd be forever imprinted in their life. So he'd be important and someone they'd never forget.

He just needed to wait and see who it was. Because he was fairly determined that he was going to effect someone's life.

The fates agreed upon his misguided ambitions. He was going to change someone or some people, somehow; someday. But they looked on with greed and envy, because even at this young age, he was beautiful, and beautiful things cause absolute **chaos**.

...

He fell in love with a gorgeous girl.

_And it began_.

It was the summer after his graduation and the sun shone far too intensely and unbearably it masked what was another lamented love story; cursing the two teens at the refined fragment that had been the beginning of their lives.

Beck was eighteen and five months when he offered to walk to the park with Andre that fateful day.

She was this flawless kind of beauty, and she made him believe in fairy tales, happily ever afters, and love at first sight. (_And the funny thing too was that she made _Andre _believe in the same damn things_.) She was wearing a sunflower patterned dress that was so summery and so absolutely lovely on her and she smiled so brightly at him from the vivid firetruck-red bench she was delicately perched upon.

His head felt light and the surrounding air fell to a heavy, warm atmosphere.

"Andre!" she called out, waving her familiar peer and his friend over.

They scrambled their way toward her and she threw her head back, her brown loose curls cascading down her back and shoulders, as she laughed at their antics. Her eyes glittered a little more though, he noticed, when she caught his stare with hers and her smile became more dazzling for this beautiful stranger of a boy that suddenly stood so godlike before her.

"What's up, Tor?" Andre pressed, far too intrigued by the sunlight that glimmered about her body to even be weary about Beck's intruding form. "Didn't think you'd stick around here after graduation. Thought you'd be at Broadway already; the new star of a show."

She smiled again, pink adorning the apples of her pronounced cheeks as she shook her head modestly. "Oh no, I'm sticking around here for a little more. But thanks for the compliment," she winked at him and Andre's grin grew distracted and lopsided, "let me know when you produce the next big popstar, Mr. Music."

Andre mumbled something incoherent in response, bashfully unable to meet her eyes now and so she turned to the boy that continued to stand so rigidly next to him; quietly observing her and her mannerisms.

"And what's your name?" she asked, eying him just as curious as he was while he stared at her.

"Beck Oliver," he answered smoothly and without missing a beat. "We went to the same high school, right? I remember seeing you around." Except, he wasn't exactly _seeing_ her, rather catching glimpses of her. Because Tori was rarely ever seen without a teeming group of adoring friends and admirers surrounding her. Beck had only managed a few glances of her and her pretty smiles and laughter and her radiating happiness and he was immediately enraptured. "Your name's Tori Vega, isn't it?"

She smiled.

Andre felt his heart leap and drop to the pit of his stomach.

_And what was this? Tori wasn't supposed to fall in love with Beck. Not like this. Not when Andre thought he had a chance, but always life worked out in funny and horribly cruel ways._

Tori Vega had been Beck Oliver's first love. She wasn't his first kiss or anything like that, but she had been his first _someone_ that he cared deeply for; took on nice dates, would rather cover her with his umbrella and brave the ill weather by himself, and believed in _forever_ as long as it was with her. Because Tori made him smile so much till it hurt; she was the sunlight that shone so brightly for him, day and night, and he focused solely on her and no one else.

Not even Andre, whom they had both incidentally forgotten about.

So Andre faded into the backdrop, him and his title of "Beck's best friend"; him and his unrequited love for a girl who never looked at him the way he looked at her.

But Beck barely grieved or thought about his loss of friend because, well, why should he? He had Tori and all he did and needed to do was smile with her.

Except, she was never the one to beat around the bush, especially when it came to Beck. It took her a few months, but she told him eventually; allowing the words to gradually sink into his flesh that stretched over his cage of a body.

He felt... numb. But only for a short while, because Tori never hurt him. Not really. Not intentionally.

Her pretty hair he marveled over was mostly made of clip-on extensions and when she whispered sweetly "ready?" and he nodded, she weaved them out of her hair and he discovered her hair was cut about two inches under her shoulders. It quite a drastic change from her first facade of wavy hair that hit below her mid waist. She smiled at him when he took her hands in his and kissed her cheek.

"You're still beautiful," he promised. And she was, just now with a shorter hairstyle.

"It's been two years," she said sadly, referring to her locks of healthy brown hair, "I was finally growing it out long enough."

"This cancer," he breathed, leaning close. Her skin was too perfect and glowed far too much for her to have some sickness living inside of her; trying to destroy her. "You've... you've beat it before, right?"

"Twenty-eight months ago," answered Tori, proudly and beaming.

He felt somewhat relieved as she retold her fight with her ongoing illness. It wasn't heroic and cancer was neither the protagonist or the villain. It was just an underlying fact that had imprinted itself forever in her life. Tori was a cancer patient, and no matter how many times she fought it and won, it'd still come back, thriving and thirsting for more.

This time though, she said, was different. Because the last time she had a long battle against cancer, her only happy ending was living to watch another season of _Gilmore Girls_. This ending, if she beat her sickness, would have Beck in it, and she couldn't give up. Not when he could be her _happily ever after_. She just had to hold on a little longer and struggle a little harder, but at least now she had something to fight for, and so, she concluded with a brilliant smile and laugh, she'd win, definitely; no questions asked. She'd win for him.

He twirled her around her living room, already celebrating the unknown outcome of her life, and swayed with her when the song from her room's stereo had faded into a slower melody that flittered about the room, pirouetting against the warm sunlight.

All day, they laughed and promised each other forever and ever and always.

Except now, he was sitting on a stale white chair pushed the closest it could be next to Tori's hospital bed.

Her naturally tan face had drained to a pasty white tint and her hair he used to run his hands through, was gone. Completely and utterly gone.

In all honestly, she was ugly now. All the life that painted her beauty and careless youth had peeled off her and sunk to the ground which soaked it in greedily and refused to give it back. But Beck was still there with her because, well, he promised her, didn't he? And he hoped, just the tiniest bit, that the old Tori, the beautiful Tori, would come back and kiss him again and love him.

This Tori loved him too though, just faintly; just weakly. And it wasn't much, but he thought it was enough.

"I'm still fighting," she cried to him. "Oh god, Beck, I'm still fighting so hard."

"I know," he reassured her gently, stroking her thin hand with his thumb.

"I'm sorry," she apologized to him. Because she really, really was. She was sorry for the terrible ending she had with him, the ending that she scoffed at and proclaimed would never occur; an unhappy ending with death and tears and just terribly broken things. "I'm trying..."

Beck smiled at her, kissing her eyelids. "Tori, I promised you I'd never leave, regardless of the outcome. I promised, remember? And I have no intent of breaking it."

"You're my first love," she sighed meekly, her eyelids drooping after his gentle touch. "Am I yours?"

He paused for a moment. And then, without hesitation, "yes, of course."

She opened her eyes abruptly and he saw fear ignite her pupils for a fleeting second. Then it was gone, as if it never even happened, and she looked so hopeless but she still managed to smile for him and he returned it without question. "Beck, you know I love you, right?"

Love.

No girl before Tori had enough time or value to use that word so freely with him. It was if she had strolled through his life casually and broke all the rules and regulations he had purposely built regarding girls.

"I love you too," he responded firmly, squeezing her hand.

He began to panic when she failed to even grasp his the slightest.

"Tor?" he choked out, his voice wavering and crumbling. He cringed, it deceived him. Because he was supposed to be strong, brave, and Tori's knight in shining armor that stole her away from the harboring, welcoming embrace of death where eternity existed and tomorrow never came.

He tried to speak again, only this time, louder and more demanding. "Tori, stay awake. _Please_."

"I'm tired," she informed lowly. "I'm so tired, Beck. So tired of fighting, you know?"

She offered him another smile that he couldn't bring himself to return. Not this time with his mouth burning and his chest expanding at a painful exponential rate and his eyes watering threateningly. Instead, he tried to pocket it — her smile; sneak it away from her, because he knew it might be the last beautiful, comforting thing she could give him.

"Yeah," he murmured, defeated and worn. "I know, Tor."

Her eyes were unfocused now, and she no longer projected happiness and vitality. He felt sudden dread wash over his body in tidal waves and he attempted to brace himself as well and as imperfectly prepared as he could be.

"Don't love anyone else," she grinned at him finally, letting it crack when she allowed the childish greed of her words to flow back into her fogging mind.

It was strange what death had bestowed upon people; what it did and what it destroyed within souls. It changed and ruined, like it had done with Beck's dad. The man had become nothing short of mental and flooded with grief and boiling anger at the death of his wife and Beck's mom. With Tori, she became imperfect and selfish. With Beck, he silently became enraged and shattered and so awfully _broken_.

"Promise," he whispered more to himself than to her, and Tori Vega's world gradually faded to blotches of gray, white, and then black.

Her expression slowly lulled off into the stretching sky above them. She was so far away now; into the dark, inky abyss with stars and stories scattered carelessly about. Somewhere he could not — nor wanted to — follow.

Despite himself and his general self-control, his body distinctively lunged forward and he grabbed her hospital gown, tugging at it persistently as doctors and nurses rushed in. He heard someone screaming. It sounded almost like a cry from an animal, holding little human quality. It echoed and bounced across the pristine white walls and it wasn't until three nurses locked him out of the room did he notice those screams had been his.

His cheeks stung as tears ran over the fresh scratches and cuts that covered his flesh; battle wounds he acquired over the fight for Tori as nurses dragged him off her.

"Tori!" he roared, banging on the door because Tori _couldn't be_ dead.

She was supposed to grow old with him, as silly as that sounded. She was supposed to love him forever, because his parents never could. She was supposed to be all that was left in his life and she was supposed to stay.

"_Goddamnit Tori_! Wake up! Wake up. Wake UP. WAKE up. WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP!"

He never made it to her funeral.

He ran away after that night. He just climbed into his car and drove and drove and drove.

...

Beck ended up at a party in the middle of nowhere, hearing about it from a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend, and stumbled warily in with no invite or need to partake in the illegal festivities being held before his inexperienced eyes. In sophomore year he dabbled with alcohol and smoking pot — the basics, more or less, and he enjoyed them, thrown up from them, and kissed a lot of girls because of them. But they were never necessities to him, nor were they memorable enough to propel forward his desire to continue partying.

But this party...

It had dozens of empty bottles lying around floors and counter tops. Some half empty with liquor he tasted before and others he hadn't. Joints were passed around casually and when he wandered into a room his eyes grew wide.

Three kids had needles up their arms and their eyes almost rolled back in anticipated and desperate ecstasy.

They stared blankly at him and he didn't know what he was doing, but shit, _what was life worth now_?

He didn't have a family, never did. He knew Andre _hated_ him for taking away Tori. And Tori... Tori was gone now. The thought burned inside of him and blurred his eyesight and the fiery feeling refused to disappear. He needed something, _anything_, to forget, because his past life wasn't worth remembering anymore.

So he decided he would join them.

Eventually, hours after, his vision began to dim, clouding his heavy mind and he lifted his gaze to stare up at striking colored eyes. He felt like he was a bit at home, oddly. Not quite safe, because he had never been safe, and neither accepted, but somewhat comfortable because he was used to settling rather than fighting for something better.

A girl looked down at him suddenly, a daunting sneer curling at her ruby-red lips.

_The drugs_, he thought with slurring words, she gave him the drugs.

"What..." he smeared his words across the dirty floor beneath him.

His eyelids grew weighted and anchored and he vaguely wondered if he was going to die then and there — on grimy tile with the faint smell of vomit floating near his nostrils and the fading sound and image of a disastrous party raging in the backdrop.

"Quiet," she hushed him with a rather tender tone laced into her sultry voice. She leaned down, running a hand through his dirty hair and smirked. "You're going to be okay. You just need sleep, alright?"

"You," he murmured softly.

"I gave you the drugs," she concluded knowingly. She didn't sound the least bit guilty or dismayed. She spoke to him as if he were in normal condition; healthily sitting next to her with a newspaper in hand and a shot of espresso in the other; completely unscathed and absolutely unmarred. It was as if this entire scene unraveling before them was a habitual occurrence for her. "I don't deal shitty drugs, buddy. Not ones that will kill you on the spot. It'll take a few more tries if that's what you _really_ want."

She chuckled corruptly to herself and he let out a small groan of confusion and fading consciousness.

"What's your name kid?" she asked next, finally sitting herself down next to him and smoothing out her tiny black skirt hardly covering her creamy white thighs. She nudged his slumped form. "Come on, bud. Stay with me here."

He closed his eyes finally, letting out "Beck" in strangled choke for a response.

"I'm Jade," she introduced, "Jade West, actually, and you've just found your new dealer, Beck."

"S'nice," he muttered. He forced himself to pry his heavy eyes open, straining all of what was left of his drained energy to focus his vision and truly look at this Jade.

She was worn, much like him. But for a drug dealer with her own product eating away her soul and beauty, she was quite attractive.

"You're lovely," he said clearly and honestly.

He saw a shadow of a smile fall across her lips.

Then, he blacked out.

And so began this unwanted and torn but fairly new chapter of his life.

Things began to make little sense now. The way he intended (no _prayed_) for it to be.

He couldn't remember today from yesterday; flittering sunlight and dark skies blurring together as trivial events bled into one another. Every color, object, and face looked the same to him. Not that he cared much now anyway. In retrospect, there wasn't anything worth waiting for; worth keeping track of his life for anymore.

This new enigma deemed Jade had been all he focused on.

She took him in after he woke the next morning from the party and he discovered the grimy floor he passed out on had been the floor of _her_ bathroom. He couldn't do much in return for her uncharacteristic hospitality. He had little work experience, no transportation because someone trashed his car at her party, and had a few pennies to his name by then. He also lost contact with his family and his friends failed to seek him out after the death of Tori.

He had nothing now. Absolutely nothing.

Maybe she felt sorry for him. Maybe she knew at one time in his short time span of a life, he was _valuable_ and _wanted_, he was handsome, and he was lively and perfect. Or maybe she just wanted someone to shoot up with, to feel the effects of shooting heroin or smoking meth or popping pills.

Because whether she wanted to admit it or not, Jade was lonely. She was alone, always had been, ever since her dad skipped out on her and even more so when her mom finally did the same. People always came in and out of her life, needing, whining, complaining and occasionally convulsing. She didn't mind being needed, what she did mind, however, was being left.

Beck, she knew (and he knew damn well too), that he would never leave her. Ever.

_This was her happy ending: His absolute nightmare. A darkening, viscous, monstrous__ thing that consumed him thoroughly; entirely._

He lost count of how many punctured holes from needles were on his pale arm and he chuckled bitterly to himself, because that was the only way he kept track of the days. By every insertion of a needle, by every tingling prickle it left, and every surge of adrenaline flooding his veins, he knew he lived one more day. Now, every day within a week and every minute within an hour appeared the same. It smelt the same, felt the same, and tasted the same.

Emptiness.

"So," Jade mumbled one morning over a stale cup of coffee. They couldn't come up with the month's rent for utilities. Heat, gas, electricity, and water had been shut down until further notice. He sat across from her dully, wearing a Christmas sweater his grandmother gave him years ago to keep the cold away from him; only biting irritably at his little exposed flesh. "Who was she?"

Despite herself, she flinched.

He studied her then, quietly and steadily. In another life, or maybe decade — he wasn't quite sure now that he couldn't decipher time very well — she could have been absolutely stunning. She had these eyes, once so turquoise that glittered with specks of a warm honey color, and that looked quite translucent it could've led his vision into her soul. Now, though, all that was left of her was darkness that swallowed the rest of the light from her. She, like himself, looked broken with her dulled brown hair that could've shined so prettily in the sunlight, her chapped lips that were once plump and beautiful, and her fragile and dangerously thin figure that _had_ to be sinful with all the right curves before she met the whirlwind life of dangerous but magnificent drugs.

Beck wouldn't smile at Jade upon her curious and gentle question, not even with the lingering and tarnished memory of Tori still writhing in the backward of his mind.

"Someone," he said to her and she looked so miserable at his lack of response.

Her features grew sharp then, because she wasn't about to feel sorry for herself over some boy with unclean long, straggly hair and hollowed cheeks and remains of dreams and hopes still dusted on his lips. She forcefully threw her cup of lukewarm coffee at him with unwanted jealously and hatred steering her actions but he dodged it, swiftly craning his neck to the side and looked at her squarely in the face as the mug shattered against the cracked wall behind him.

Jade's chest heaved as she panted in rage. She knocked her chair over as she quickly stood to her feet, her eyes continuing to lock with his unwavering ones, and she narrowed her eyes to form the most vicious glare she could impale him with.

"She's _dead_ you know," she smirked cruelly. Because Beck was the first thing that was ever _hers_, and that stupid Tori bitch wasn't going to posses the last fragments of his ruined heart forever. Not when Jade West was here now and better than that dead girl had ever been and ever will be. Because she had an endless, nearly eternal, amount of drugs that Beck so desperately needed and she was here and alive, whereas Tori was buried beneath the ground, rotting and worthless. "She's fucking dead and never coming back."

"Are you done?" he asked tiredly, now also standing and politely tucking the seat of his chair under the table.

Jade screamed violently in frustration and kicked over the table and his chair. He stood there, rigidly, still staring at her. He didn't stare at her like she was a strange and caged animal like the way visitors observed exotic creatures inhabiting zoos (even though he should) and she felt her hands curl into fists. He just looked at her, impartial and unmoved by her childish outburst.

Beck was far too hollow and exhausted now to deal with her like this.

"You need to sleep," he offered and he held out his hand, beckoning her to follow him to the bedroom. "Come on."

She slapped it away and turned her cheek to him, her hair flinging over her shoulder. "No," she said stubbornly, and shot him another glare before mumbling through gritted teeth, "I love you, you know, but that stupid girl is still in the way. _Why_ can't _I_ have _all_ of you?"

He felt his chest constrict, his lips thinning, and his head was about to burst.

_Beck, you know I love you, right_?

"_I love you_,_ you know, but that stupid girl is still in the way_."

Beck blinked once. "What?" he deadpanned.

"I love you, idiot," she repeated confidently with a bitter taste seeping down her throat as it spread across her mouth and stinging words. "Why else do you think I let a lowlife, homeless bastard like you keep hanging around me? I _love_ you. But you're in love with a girl that gave up and left you—remember that. Remember other people actually give a shit about you, even if your head is so far up your ass you can't even notice—"

He shut her up but grabbing her face, gingerly and with surprisingly delicate intricacy he thought he'd long forgotten, and kissed her fully on her lips. She kissed him back, as expected, and he tasted nothing but anguish.

She did kiss better than Tori ever had, though.

And she was the one to pull away, only to look at him, gauge his expression and measure up what her expectations of their kiss had been initially to her and the actual reality of it. He waited and then she took a handful of his ragged Misfits shirt and dragged him into her bedroom.

Nothing was ever sweet about Jade. But she was honest, and she showed him where patience could lead him if he waited long enough. He didn't know what he was waiting for with her, he wasn't even thankful for the roof she put over his head and the food she let him eat, but he knew he wasn't waiting for sex. He was sure of it. But he took it, because Jade West loved him, and a little bit of him loved her too, maybe.

When they were done Jade promptly rolled off him, her back to his chest, and she brushed off his touch.

"You thought about her the entire time," she hissed.

Beck was too tired to argue so he kissed her shoulder gently and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and fell into a deep sleep.

He dreamt of Tori that night. But she was crying, shaking her head at him, and he could taste the tears; feel them on his naked chest and when he had awoke the next morning Jade's lifeless body was slumped over on the floor.

She died from a combination of drugs. Her death was proclaimed as an accidental overdose but Beck knew better. Jade wasn't stupid. She knew her limitations, her boundaries. She even knew his. And he was certain she had taken so many drugs on purpose because she would never be Tori.

But Beck never wanted her to be _anything_ like Tori, and he should have said it. _Because who wanted another girl that left him in the end?_

He dropped a red rose off near her headstone.

It was the least he could do — make her grave stand up for all she was worth. He collected all the money she had made from her last deal and used it for her casket and gravestone.

_Jade West  
>A beautiful girl.<em>

That day, he vowed never to touch the substances that had taken his life away for awhile and ultimately devoured Jade's. He didn't think it would be that hard, because he was growing more and more tired each passing day, and feeling the effects of his drugs weren't nearly as fulfilling as before, especially now that he'd have to go out and put forth more effort to find a new drug dealer that might not be as kind as Jade was.

No, he thought, he was done with that. Like he was officially done with Jade now. Whether he liked it or not.

He was the only person to attend her funeral. It rained hard that day, pounding on his frail back, and when the quiet, unimportant funeral was over with, he walked his way back to his old neighborhood.

...

It took Andre a few days to run into Beck.

The latter of the two was at his wit's end, clearly unclean and unwashed, starving, and, once again, homeless.

Andre heard about Jade's death from the local newspaper and, at first, didn't think much of it because _really, who gave a damn about another drug dealer — man or woman — dying_? They were lower than the rats that ran amidst the town's sewers. But his eyes couldn't tear themselves away from the small printed picture next to the considerably insignificant article.

It was the empty shell of what had been his former best friend standing near the gravestone.

"Beck?" he approached his distant friend. Beck was sitting on a curb, outside of a sandwich shop with nothing to do and certainly nowhere to go.

The boy looked up at the mention of his name, pale and thin and _sick_ looking, and, surprisingly, smiled weakly at this new image of his old friend, now matured and independent.

"Sorry about the girl," Andre breathed next, his eyes still sweeping calculating across Beck's nearly unrecognizable features.

Beck looked at him. He figured his past friend had been, fairly, sorry since Andre had just lost Tori and only Tori. But Beck, well, Beck lost Tori _and_ Jade. A girl he was in love with and a girl who managed to love what was left of him. He appeared nothing more than the shadow of the boy he used to be. Vibrant, charismatic, and handsome qualities now were replaced with straggly hair and vacant eyes.

"Come to my house," Andre offered next. "Please, man. I should have... I should have looked for you but Tori... it was just, I—"

"Okay," Beck responded quietly. He was tired and unmoved and if taking him in would ease Andre's guilty conscience, then he'd politely oblige. He never lost that about himself. Almost always doing what others wanted and expected of him. He wasn't particularly excited or, like with Jade, thankful. He was still just wandering aimlessly around in his life, still fucking it up over and over again.

Andre was still such a kind soul, like he had been in high school, and turned out, he owned this quaint little coffee cafe dubbed the _Black Cup_ and it was quite the little hotspot for the contemporary teens and young, hip adults inhabiting the world today.

The place wasn't _that_ fantastic; it wasn't singing high taste quality left and right. But it was a faint yellow color, with an interesting brown splashed against it, and the seats were pretty cool. Cool as in: plastic, oval, and hard, that was. There was a live band (usually Andre's smooth and slick jazz one) that played from six till closing and it presented itself to be a nice place. Nothing notorious or dripping in fame, but it had its own coffee-fanatic following and it paid his house's mortgage bills.

Andre graciously gave Beck a job there, after Beck shaved his messy facial hair and cut a few inches off his long hair. In his crisp, always ironed, ugly-yellow colored shirt and khaki pants, he almost looked youthful again.

Beck tried his best to pretend to be what Andre always hoped for: an actual good friend. And he worked hard, became a manager at the _Black Cup_ after six months, and even helped pay a portion of the bills. He now wasn't a burden but an equal roommate who could drive his own car, wash his own laundry, and buy his own food; never once leeching off Andre's mild success. It wasn't an overwhelming sense of pride or anything that washed over Beck with his new fairly mundane accomplishments, but a silent relief that maybe, for once, he wasn't doing the wrong thing.

Until, that was, around ten and a half months down the road, when Andre threw an aimless mixer (because parties were for teens and adults who refuse to grow up) and a few friends of his showed up and Beck was forced to socialize awkwardly with the string of individual strangers. He refused to seep back into what had really become of him: an empty man, outwardly and inwardly. He didn't want to feel like he was lumbering through his day again, clumsily and unsure. He wanted to be _okay_, and if that meant he'd have to meet and intermingle with people he could really care less for, then goddamnit, he would.

_Except, he wasn't supposed to meet her, but he did. He wasn't supposed to become intrigued by her because he was so empty now anyway... and, initially, she apologized profusely to Andre that she wasn't going to make it, but..._

He drank a little too much because there wasn't anything else to do but talk about nothing to strangers that called themselves Andre's friends, and when she introduced herself, a Mike Hard Lemonade in hand, he cocked an eyebrow and spared her an up-and-down glance.

"Your hair," he said bluntly, courage liquor surging through his words, "its red."

She giggled to herself, smiling so brightly at Beck it almost hurt him. "Of course its red, silly!"

"Why?" he asked, a look of disgust twisting itself along his features.

"Why not?" she countered lightly. She wasn't going down without a fight. "We only have one life to live so I say, why not? I don't think its ugly!"

He scowled in response. "It's ridiculous," he commented, bemused.

"I'm sure it'll grow on you," she grinned confidently even though he could see a little hurt and upset cracking it. She eventually blinked the self-doubt away, giggling as she said, "I'm Cat. Andre calls me Lil' Red though! What's your name?"

_And what's your name?  
><em>

_What's your name kid_?

He wanted to flinch but couldn't, not when her voice separated herself so distinctively like Tori's and Jade's had too. He wanted to pinpoint his pain somewhere; he wanted to blame someone or something, but he couldn't. Because when it came to asking that question, Tori's tone was so easygoing, Jade's was mocking and filled with cynical amusement, and Cat's was airy and wonderfully innocent and genuine.

"Beck," he answered finally and she smiled again.

"It's nice to meet you, Beck," she informed sweetly and gave him an unexpected hug. It was somewhat amazing, he almost admitted. She smelt like roses and being this close he could see the sparkling pink glitter eyeshadow swept above her doe eyes. "I'm sorry I met you so late but I have to go! Maybe we can see each other again?"

She sounded nearly hopeful and he felt the faint plead collide against him and sink into his skin. He was trapped now, but he didn't even notice.

"I work with Andre at the cafe," offered Beck before he could stop himself — not that he even had the intention of ceasing his words in the first place. "You should come by sometime."

"Okay," she breathed.

_Her fate was sealed_.

Once and awhile, like she agreed to, Cat would stop by and pay a visit to the mildly busy coffee shop. She would order a small cup of coffee, fill it to the brim with cream and add three packets of sugar (she had to fuel her sweet demeanor somehow) and she would promptly sit in the corner on one of the store's uncomfortable chairs, and sip on her drink, giggling to herself when she caught Beck glancing over at her and when he knew she caught him looking, meeting his curious gaze, he would sometimes fumble over his spoken words to a costumer or knock something over and her honey-like laughter would fill the cafe.

He couldn't smile at her, not anymore, because he forgot how to; because the death and the tears and drugs scratched away all his smiles, but he would try his hardest to form a tiny grin and she took it for all it was worth and smiled for him instead.

Her visits became more and more frequent as weeks went by and Beck's reserved grins continued to flood her world.

Sometimes, he wondered if he was luring her in, because bad things always happened to the ones he clung to the most, but he just promised himself he wouldn't love her or kiss her; like that was a deal that would save her life. In theory, the best concept for him to sever their newly tied bonds would be to simply push her away and out of his life all together.

But Beck was selfish and he knew that. So he tried to make a compromise instead, because he needed her never-ending smiles that outshone Tori's and destroyed Jade's darkened ones.

One day, he asked her if she wanted to hang out, as friends, after his shift ended at five. She, of course, said yes in a baited breath because despite what the drugs had dulled, he was still a beautiful boy and he was asking _her_ out.

When she met him after work, he still clad in his work clothes, she wasn't wearing denim shorts or jeans like usual, but a breathtaking pristine white one-shoulder dress. She didn't know what direction he was going to lead her or what place he'd introduce her to, but she wasn't going to take any chances of being under-dressed for the occasion, so she dressed in her prettiest dress and heels and hoped for the best.

He forced a laugh and it came out as a nasty-sounding chuckle. He felt too old to laugh anymore, but he tried to at least, for her. Because no matter how old he felt, she was still this young, pretty little thing, and he was going to treat her like she was meant to be treated.

"You look wonderful," he said and she blushed before giggling. His heart swelled uncomfortably in his chest and he should've felt guilty for taking advantage of this stunning girl that had yet to fully grow up and understand how horrible he was, but he was far too jaded to feel much anymore. All he knew was that she was lovely, not as lovely as Tori but lovelier than Jade ever was, and she was completely smitten with this empty shadow that was once his lively body.

Cat embodied innocence and love and he desperately tried to feel what she held so much of and he carried nothing of. His callused fingertips suddenly brushed against her neck and she parted her lips in an abrupt gasp, her eyes rounding at the sudden contact. He could feel her stiffen under his less than tender touch. It was clumsy, almost greedy, as his fingers traced her smooth skin up her neck and across her cheek.

"Beck?" she whispered, unsure by his sudden advances. He took her trembling hand with his free one, confidently intertwining their fingers. "Beck...?"

He appeared as if he was going to kiss her, his lips inches away from hers but he pulled back before she built enough courage to lean forward, and he smirked dully at her before tugging her along the streets of LA. They were an odd looking pair, her dressed to the nines and he in a coffee-stained untucked polo, but she didn't mind and he didn't even notice.

Her red hair glowed even more vibrantly under the streetlights that lit the way for the busy sidewalks teeming with strangers forced to brush against each other and walk with one another. Cat giggled, holding onto his hand tightly as she breathed in the clashing noises and lights. He took her to a few opened boutiques and she laughed as they tried on silly clothes with feathers and glitter and beads. Eventually, they ended up at a rundown arcade he and Andre used to frequent when they were teens, and he won her several prizes like candy necklaces, a small unicorn stuffed animal, millions of rubber bouncy balls in an array of colors, and a fake heart-shaped pink diamond ring.

When he walked her back to her house she babbled on about how absolutely, positively _wonderful_ it was to spend these past few months with him, especially since her last brief exboyfriend Robbie had been so terrible after their breakup, and she told him her dreams that still soared among the stars, her tiny but intricately painted hopes, and how she couldn't _wait_ to be married one day. She talked a lot about getting married, and he wondered if Robbie ever proposed.

Their night ceased at the end of her driveway and she wasn't like Tori or Jade, who both, despite their confidence, beat around the bush with him. Cat felt a surge of need and certainty and as he began to say goodbye and kiss her cheek, she turned her head and kissed him instead.

The bet he made with fate had been broken at that moment but he almost didn't care, because she didn't taste like happiness, but she tasted like sweet, sugary faith.

He kissed her back, probably more passionately than Robbie could ever muster enough courage up to do, and she let out a small moan into his mouth. It was a very unCat-like sound, but he reveled in it, and he wanted to do more — _should have done more _— but he didn't, and he didn't offer to take her home or rush her into her house like he should have, but he kept her there, planting kisses on her lips that made her knees buckle and giggles escape her.

And Cat was there, in her tight, body-hugging dress, and Beck was there, so undressed and enthralled by her, and pretty girls with her attire on shouldn't be out _this_ late, and a car slowly drove by and the tinted windows rolled down and there was a bunch of teens in the car and one was nervous as the others watched him.

He was beaten a little (the teen) but he felt adrenaline spiral about his bruised body and he wanted a place to belong and he had to do it. He just _had_ to do it, and so he pushed himself against the door of the car, and he took out a gun and he set his aim and fired away.

The car sped off and he was _in_. The misguided teen found a family.

Beck felt a horrible sting on his right arm. A bullet must have skimmed it. And suddenly, he fell to his knees when Cat's body sagged against his. He watched as red sprayed across her dress and the color splashed unwanted all over his work shirt. It matched the red hue of her hair. She looked like she was about to cry, glancing up at him so helplessly, and it finally registered:

Cat was shot. Everywhere. She was shot and she was going to die.

He shushed her as she parted her lips to speak and kissed her forehead tenderly.

She let out a small whimper and murmured against him, "I'm never going to... I'm never going to get married now." She paused, her eyes glossing over. "I wasn't even close. I wasn't even proposed to."

Beck felt his heart plummet and he blamed herself for her ill-fated death. He didn't even really love this one, not even a tiny bit. But he fumbled through her purse and she initially thought he was going to scoop up her cellphone and call for help but he didn't. Instead, he pulled out that fake, plastic and cheap looking ring he won her with twenty-five tickets, and gingerly slid it on her finger.

"Caterina Valentine," he said and she looked at him, wide-eyed and bleeding through so many wounds. "Will you please do me the honor of marrying me?"

"Yes," she smiled so brightly for him he wanted to capture all the light that radiated off her all the time, except now, it was dimming, little by little. "Yes Beck, I will."

He watched as her eyes became blanker each passing second that seemed to stretch itself even longer. She knew she was dying but she was still smiling so magnificently for him.

"Thank you," she managed in a quiet voice. She died in his bloodied arms, wearing her plastic heart-shaped ring that shone so wonderfully under the moonlight.

Her funeral had been what he assumed Tori's was like and what Jade's lacked. It was on a sunny day with dozens of people gathered around to grieve over the life of Cat which was unfairly ripped from under her dainty feet. He didn't speak on her behalf, but watched as others did; most of their eyes set directly on him because he was the last person to be with her and they nearly blamed him for what he hadn't done, what he could have done, and what he _should _have done the night she died.

Robbie spoke though, and he stood quite proudly and tall for a guy who appeared as if he'd be a complete nobody in real life. Most knew him as Cat's boyfriend, not as that horrible ex she talked to Beck about.

He said he loved her and that she'd be missed by many because that was truth. He also regretted how he didn't propose to her, didn't love her enough, and then he met Beck's eyes and his almost narrowed with complete loath and jealousy. Because Beck had _beat him to it_. Beck didn't mean to, but he cared for Cat far better than Robbie ever had, and he even secretly allowed her dreams to come true with a fake 50 cent-worth jewelry and a worthless promise of _forever_.

She was buried with it. The ring.

Beck left before Robbie finished.

...

**Destruction**. He left nothing but destruction in his wake and he never allowed another being close to him because what could he give now? Tori had broken him, Jade revived what was left, and Cat tried but failed to fix all that remained shattered.

Beck had moved out of Andre's house after Cat died. He burned and buried the shirt which her blood had twisted itself within, the five out of a hundred needles that Jade used with him he still kept, and the pictures and happiness he had with Tori, and he found a shabby apartment to stay in instead. It was better this way.

He took only Andre's calls because he wasn't going to end up as a shitty friend again, he refused to, and he found a job at an office building who hired him solely based on the tragic news article that revolved around Cat's death and exaggerated tale how he had somehow tried to save her (_but really didn't_).

For the rest of his life that extended into an odd seventy years, he lived silently and insignificantly, until he quietly died at the age of seventy-five and willingly let himself drift off into death. When he opened his eyes again, he watched her extend her arm and brush her icy fingers across his cheek. She glowed and she smiled at him. He was home again.

Once upon a time, Beck was a man who fought less than valiantly (but diligently) to save those he loved the greatest, only to ruin them instead. He was just a beautiful boy who attracted nothing but envy from darkness and, in the end, only managed to destroy those who had sought him the most. He was chaos, but even in this discord that had been his death, he found peace.

...

...

...

**Author's Notes: **Andddd, finished! Phew. This has got to be the longest one-shot I've written on this account to date!

Who the girl that Beck opened his eyes to is entirely up for interpretation. I tried to manage an equal balance between the girls, each giving and each taking something from him.

Also, to clear up any confusion, the boy who shot Cat had to shoot her as a hazing protocol usually used among gangs. I don't live near LA and I actually live in a fairly decent town outside of a small but significant city, and we've had some horrible stories of drive by purposeful shootings. We lost, I believe, eight kids to date within four years in nice parts of my town because of this hazing.

And I really hope someone caught the subtle connection between Beck and the Apple of Discord. It's a Greek myth of a golden apple that, when dropped among souls, caused absolute chaos. It's appearance is quite prominent in a tale where Eris, the goddess of strife, promises the golden apple to the fairest goddess, causing a dispute between the three Olympian goddesses Athena, Hera, and Aphrodite. Which, I guess, could be Tori, Jade, and Cat if you want...

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this long and rather unhappy story. Reviews would be lovely!


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